


He Couldn't Look At Her Yet

by lucylovegood



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grant Ward is a dummy who doesn't know how to talk to people, I wanted to write something new to get me out of my rut, and apparently ward/simmons fic came out, and everyone has boundary issues which is going to send the poor uptight grumpface to an early grave, basically canonizing the near complete lack of ward x simmons canon in 1x02, in prep for nanowrimo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucylovegood/pseuds/lucylovegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a scientist at the top of her many fields, her logic was bloody awful, and for a man who spoke 6 languages, not a single one of those seemed to be Jemma Simmons, but he hadn't expected to find her standing there right now, in elephant pajamas no less, and the effect was quite disarming at 5 o clock in the ruddy morning...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One Ever Told Fitzsimmons That Alien Slime Does Not Belong In The Fridge

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! I'm not sure how big this ship is but wow its a gem! I had a ton of headcanons that explained away the minimal Jemma/Grant interactions in 1x02 and I wanted to write something to get me out of my writing rut in preperation for NaNoWriMo so why not this right? More chapters that will cover the entire episode will be up shortly I promise, all you need to know is this chapter starts just before the beginning of episode 2, before Coulson brings Skye on board the bus.
> 
> Anyway I hope you like this, let me know what you think, if you'd like, and I hope this tag fills up soon because I need more of these precious babies in my life!

For such a ridiculously huge (and way too conspicuous for a super top secret government agency than was probably advisable) plane, Grant had never felt so enclosed in his entire life.

Stifled was the word for it. So was trapped. Then there was suffocated. Smothered was another. Should –probably – get – the – hell – off – this – god – damn – _bus –_ before – he – snapped – and – killed – the – next – person – to – walk – into – his – bunk – without – knocking – or – pat – his – back – like – old – friends – or – drink – his – protein – shake – even – though – it – specifically – said – Agent – Ward’s – on – the – sticky – note – attached – to – the – bottle – which – was – now – filled – with – some – disgusting – pungent – probably – alien – slime – that – was – emitting – a – worrisome – smoke, was a _whole sentence_ for it.

Ward could give you a whole thesaurus of words for how he was feeling about the situation, but he’d rather use it to beat both you and himself to death with it right now. And he probably could you know. In seven different ways to boot.

He had not been lying when he told Agent Coulson he was not cut out for the job. He worked alone and that was the way he liked it, that’s the way he was _good_ at it. It’s kind of difficult to remain in the mind set of an international undercover agent with the ability to lie, steal, and kill all in the name of espionage and all the nuance such skill required when people insisted on walking in on him to brush their teeth even though he was quite clearly showering right now, as though he wasn’t there, or as though he was harmless to do anything about it and who cared that he was butt naked right now, oral hygiene is obviously top priority. He was a solo agent, a one-man team, a lone wolf, if you were prone to that sort of melodrama which according to his constantly teasing sister, he was- he wasn’t, okay, she was a liar.

The afore-mentioned alien slime that was -oh god okay he shouldn’t have touched it- now trickling between his fingers as he stood there before the open fridge in his sweats and white shirt he used for training- it was 5 AM but he’d sooner be shot than give these boundary-averse nuisances another chance to see him in his pyjamas thank you _very_ much, may just be the last straw. God damn Fitzsimmons.

“What the-“ he muttered, pulling his arm back as though he’d been burned- poisoned was probably more like it what was this stuff?- “this is a _refrigerator_ people!” he moaned as though the kitchen were not empty and he were not the only person awake right now- some team of super-secret agents they were, not a single one of them was ever up before 9 AM so far as he could tell, and even then they’d roll out of bed headed straight for the fridge and make pancakes. Pancakes. Hadn’t anybody ever heard of fighting fit? Obviously the jacked up, angst-ridden, dodgy tech fuelled “ _superhero”_ who could beat a man to a pulp with a steel canister thirty times his weight without breaking a sweat and nearly blown a train station to smithereens was not at all worrisome to them.

No. This did not go in the fridge and it did not go in his drinking bottle for crying out loud. Time to draw the line.

Grabbing a paper towel and scooping the bottle up in his un-slimed-hand he left the kitchen at a jog and was coming round the corner to the lab within minutes, the culprits lair calling its gross icky specimen child home.

He was through the door and slamming the thing down on the first desk in front of him, looking around for a scrap of paper and pen- they were scientists how was this difficult to find?!- intending to write a very strongly worded letter to the team of fast talking, gibberish speaking, _exhausting_ tag team when a deliberate sounding cough interrupted him, and if he were not an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D with years of training and experience in big bad scary and surprising, under his belt, he would have jumped a mile out of his skin. As it were, he froze, his muscles tensing readily as he turned to the sound. 

 “Uh, can I help you with something?” the soft, female voice asked, and it was either the English accent coming into play, or she sounded really only curious, and not at all surprised to have seen him stride into her lab at this hour in the morning and throw a bottle of goo down on a table whilst, he was pretty sure, muttering angrily about being able to shower in peace.

“Um” he was stuck for a fraction of a second as he located her, Simmons, Jemma Simmons, the young bio-chemist, practical Siamese twin of one now conspicuously absent Leo Fitz, standing behind her desk, safety goggles and lab coat over what appeared to be pyjamas and quite distinct bed hair that was sticking up every which way, dealing with the surprise of this strange run-in far better than he was if her relaxed stance and neutral expression were anything to go by.

He recovered the instant he spotted a beaker of familiar looking slime in her right hand.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked bluntly, his tone sharper than was probably necessary but he could feel the slime dripping between his knuckles and that was just not okay, it wasn’t even dawn and he’d never met a soul awake on this ship at this time since they’d moved in over a week ago.

She was unfazed by his tone, barely even blinking at the obvious annoyance in his words, she just shrugged “Says the angry man in someone else’s lab before the sun’s even up” she said, not unkindly and he bristled, annoyed at being caught out but she grinned at him anyway “Sometimes I like the lab to myself, Fitz likes to give me a second by second recount of his dreams when we get here in the mornings and I needed to concentrate on this” she shrugged “What are _you_ doing in here?”

“Someone drank my protein shake and filled the bottle up with this” he practically growled, holding up the offending article for her to see and she grimaced good naturedly

“Oh good you found it! I forgot where that had wandered off to” she positively beamed, and he hadn’t yet gauged enough about her to know if she’d simply missed the social cue of angry put upon man with an axe to grind with her right now, or she was smart enough to pretend otherwise. She had a pretty smile, either way. Wait did she just say wandered off? He stepped back from the bottle- or at least he meant to, somehow stepping forward toward the second desk that stood between them instead.

“Of course I found it, it was in _my_ drinking bottle, and my protein shake is not” he said, still annoyed but to his utter shock, she just rolled her eyes and bent down toward the specimen in front of her obviously deciding only half of her attention would be necessary to deal with him.

“Oops sorry” she said cheerily “I needed to see how it would progress in a different environment, the fridge seemed an obvious choice” the… the fridge seemed an obvious choice?! Who _was_ this girl- woman… woman. “And you can stop frowning at me like that” she added lightly “it was Fitz who drank your drink, not me, I just recycled the bottle”

He knew his eyes had widened in reaction to her words, for a scientist, her logic was bloody _awful_ but the way she said it sounded so, so reasonable, and she was so calm and cheerful about the whole thing it was quite difficult to imagine yelling at her for it right now without taking the place of the biggest jerk on this plane.

“What… is it exactly?” was all he could think to say, aiming the curiosity he could feel bubbling in his mind toward the science rather than the scientist, it seemed safer that way.

She looked back up at his words then, a slight wrinkling in her nose as she really looked at him for the first time since he had walked in, he had not expected her stare to be quite so… palpable. She was a scientist after all, he reminded himself, trained to study things through a microscope with a keener eye than maybe even his last week when Fitz had given him that antidote and told him exactly where he needed to hit, staring down the barrel of a gun. Maybe she didn’t like to be asked questions about her work, maybe she just didn’t like him, maybe she… she was frustratingly difficult to read.

“It’s alien!” she breathed at last, her eyes lighting up at the words as she bit down on her lip in suppressed excitement about her work and without realizing it, he found himself smiling slightly too, the enthusiasm written all over her face was extremely endearing apparently. Then he remembered he’d spilled some of this delightfully alien and unknown toxin on his bare skin.

“Right and is it poisonous?” he asked, holding up his hand to show her the back of his hand and her mouth formed a tiny round _o_ for a moment- great, he was going to die, he was going to die from slime, before she recovered herself and beckoned him toward her hurriedly

“No, I don’t think so anyway, its changed colour though look” she said, and he was tempted to head for the door when he recognized the way her voice was speeding up, her head filling with too many thoughts than could possibly be expressed at a normal pace, she was heading straight for the territory of babbling science lady who could go on for hours and hours and hours saying things he had absolutely no clue about, and Fitz wasn’t here, there was nobody here but him to try and keep up with her. He wondered how so many big thoughts could fit inside such a small person.

“Changed colour? Is that a good thing?” he asked, unsure, there was something very disconcerting about a person in- were those elephants on her pyjamas?-,  bed hair and wonky safety goggles that kind of jumbled together into a very mad-scientist/too tired to put clothes on properly let alone handle extra-terrestrial possible poison,  vibe, combined with that look in her eyes right now, waving you forward to inspect a foreign substance doing unheard of things currently attached to your skin. Especially such a person who considered a refrigerator full of food an appropriate place for such an item, but she looked away from his hand then and up into his face, offering a surprisingly reassuring grin, like this was an opportunity to learn something, to discover something, not a possible death sentence, and how could he possibly not be enthralled by that? And he really was about to step forward.

“So I’m in the ventilation system, I don’t have any arms, and Agent Tightpants-“

Ward’s head snapped around so fast at the sound he nearly cricked his neck, to find Leo Fitz shuffling papers on his desk, back turned against the other two occupants of the lab, straining across the space as though he was looking for something, and Grant took two very deliberate and hasty steps back, all the while not quite sure why he was so keen to put obvious space between himself and Simmons.

“-appears and he- oh Jemma look, I told you it would turn up!” Fitz exclaimed, raising the now infamous bottle of goo from his desk where Grant had slammed it when he first arrived, “I thought it was purp- Agent Ward!” he practically spluttered as he turned around and finally caught sight of the near stranger who most definitely did not belong in their lab. Ward had so far considered this double act to be the ones most likely lacking in appropriate social conduct skills, but standing there now, he was quite certain that he himself was the glowing beacon of awkward and uncomfortable that was causing this drawn out quiet between them, rather than Fitz’ bizarre recount of a dream with no arms and who was-

“Who’s Agent Tightpants?” he said at last and Fitz did very well to cover a blush that was creeping up his neck at the words, whilst Jemma stifled a giggle from behind him… he was missing something…

“Um, no one, no one at all, what are you doing here?” Fitz stammered, crossing his arms over his chest and reaching his hand up to tug on his ear, some kind of nervous tell maybe, as he looked pointedly between Grant and his friend.

“Um…” whatever glimmer of what felt like ease that the two of them seemed to have established was quickly fracturing, the lab once again felt too small now that Fitzsimmons were in it together, their collective energy seeming so much bigger than the sum of their parts when they came together, squeezing him out of whatever space he seemed to take up

“Agent Ward spilled some of specimen 7 on his hand and we were going to examine the effects” Jemma explained with relish and Fitz seemed to accept the answer- why wouldn’t he, it was the truth after all, that’s all that had been going on- with a shrug, turning back to his desk, deciding Ward’s presence was really nothing to be bothered about obviously

“Yeah it was in the fridge” Ward muttered accusingly as Jemma rustled around behind him to find an empty vial, but Fitz didn’t seem to care for the conversation and launched back into his dream sequence as though that alone was the most important thing on Earth.

Minutes went by as all he could do was stand there like a spare part and wait; Jemma was having trouble locating whatever it was she was looking for, hindered by the way she kept pausing to comment on every twist and turn this mammoth of a dream seemed to take, and Ward was growing impatient, deciding to simply wipe the disgusting substance on his shirt-

“No, don’t do that!” Jemma chastised 

“Sorry I don’t know the protocol for disposing of alien toxins” he shot back, exasperated now that they seemed to have remembered him there buried beneath their quick fire dialogue that was impossible for anyone else to keep up with, talk normally for Christ’s sake! “I’ll just wait here with alien cack on my hands whilst you two chat” he seethed, these two together were about as far away from his lone operative life style as could be and it was like being dunked in ice cold water after a week at the beach.

“Alright Agent Tightpants, I’m ready now” Jemma aimed back, her eyes flashing momentarily at his outburst and he noticed then that they were not just brown as he had supposed when he had appraised her upon their first meeting, but amber, an orange light behind them that was easily missed, fire in her eyes, evidence of her own spark, which he was only just noticing now. Wait _What_ had she called him?

“How’d you spill it in the first place?” Fitz spoke up, a lazy curiosity in his voice interrupting the chill that had passed between them for a moment

“It was in the god damn fridge, with the food!” Ward exclaimed, the original anger that had lead him here reigniting now

“Yes Ward seems to have a problem with our storage system” Jemma informed her other half nonchalantly, as though Ward were the one at fault here and Fitz just laughed

“Should have seen where she grew part of her final thesis our third year of University” was all he said

“Not in the place of my protein shake” Ward responded in clipped tones, refusing to warm at what was obviously supposed to be a diffusement of the situation, a pleasant anecdote to thaw him out

“Yeah I already told him you were the one who drank it” Jemma said lightly _OW_ he looked down in alarm to see her jabbing his arm just below his sleeve with something sharp and he pulled away roughly, what was she _doing?_ You don’t just stab someone in the arm, without a warning!

“Ah mate that was gross how do you drink that stuff” Fitz carried on oblivious to the commotion

“What the hell?” Ward exclaimed at the woman grabbing a syringe from her desk, face entirely neutral as though she hadn’t just stabbed him

“Checking your reflexes” she said brightly _what… what_

 _“You’re supposed to tap my knee with a hammer or something for that”_  Ward almost shouted and she looked up at him placing a hand on her hip and chewing her lip impatiently for his little tantrum to pass apparently

“I need to take some of your blood too, there’s all kinds of tests that can be done, this stuff could absorb through skin” she explained, oh, so she was just what killing two birds with one stone then, how silly of him to have been annoyed, how _unreasonable_

“You said it wouldn’t do me any harm!” he practically yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration as he turned to face her fully again, staring down at her small frame

“I said it probably wouldn’t!” she exclaimed back

“So what you just poke and prod me and run some little tests just to be sure eh?” the sarcasm dripping from his tone matching the eye roll she bestowed upon him now toe for toe.

“Sorry but I’m a _scientist_ it’s what I do!” she defended hotly

“Oh so if I were to just walk in here and what shoot you both in the head that’d be okay because hey, it’s what I _do”_ he responded, the words out of his mouth before he could think to sensor them in the moment

The coppery light that had been there when he opened his mouth dimmed in her eyes as his words fell on her and she practically shrank back from him, her shoulders dropping as the tension of the argument just melted away, unimportant, insignificant in comparison to his words. Oh, no…

The breathe through his nose was the only sound in the room for a moment as his own anger seemed to ebb out of his system, Fitz had finally gone quiet behind them and it seemed he had their full attention at last, her wide eyed, paling face, suddenly fragile feeling frame aimed entirely at him and his stupid, _stupid_ mouth.

“Wait I did-“

“Is that really what you do?” she asked quietly and he watched as she swallowed hard and made herself stand up tall as she could once more, waiting for an answer, always looking for an answer.

Yes it was what he did yes, Grant Ward the _man_ you call in to eliminate the enemy, bad people terrible bad people, awful people who exploited the vulnerable, war criminals, terrorists, cold-hearted, unflinching, killers. But give a man a gun and permission to fire, who decides what side of the line he falls on after so long… after so many…

She was still looking at him, this foreign quietness she was projecting making him feel even more ashamed, he did not know this woman- this girl, she looked right now, just a girl- at all, had been “working on a team” with her for barely a week but all that time, she had always had an energy about her, and, closing his eyes for a second as he realized, it was her natural, burning curiosity that had always made her appear so… vibrant, unquenchable, insatiable, borderline dangerous curiosity to learn, to discover, to uncover the truth, was her spark.

She was so quiet now, because his stupid unthinking, idiotic self had somehow squashed it. She was asking him if he was a killer. If that was really who he was. And for once, she wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer, wanted the truth.

“I’m n-… that’s not all I do, and it’s not like-“, he tried, his arms rising at his sides but he could only drop them- what exactly was he hoping to do with them?

Her eyebrow quirked slightly and her eyes shifted under his heavy gaze as he fought for a way to make her understand, until she was looking past him and he could practically see the cogs turning in her head under the translucence of her skin.

She nodded once, accepting his pathetic attempt at a sentence or stopping him before he could try another, was anybody’s guess. Then she looked back and her face split into a grin as she looked up at him “Stupid question, sorry” no, no, he didn’t want her to apologize “Agent Coulson recruited us all for a reason” she bubbled “A specific skill set, you’re no different, its just a job” she reasoned and he ignored the part of him that felt sick when he nodded along with her, letting her reason take hold, it was just a skill set, just a job.

“Better to have him in the tent pissing out than on the other side pissing in” Fitz weighed in suddenly and Ward straightened, looking deliberately away from Simmons now, sure that he should not test the fragile… understanding?... between them anymore right now, resisting the instinctual flinch when he felt her hand reach for his, the warmth of her delicate fingers still obvious under the cold gloves she wore as she scraped the gunk off his hands at last, carefully, methodically, unaware that there was anything at all worth commenting on as her hands held his gently within her palm, just doing her job.

“Great I’m the dog Coulson lets off the leash to kill people when necessary?” he said disparagingly and he heard Jemma groan- so much for peace

“That’s not what he mean-“, she started to defend but apparently he’d reached the end of the line so far as team bonding for the day, pulling his hand from her grasp as she finished her work

“The fridge is off limits from now on alright” he said flatly and made to move away when the lab door opened- brilliant, no one’s ever awake on this thing and then 3 of them appear at once at 5 a bloody clock

“Wheels up in ten, we’re making a pit stop in New York before Peru so make sure you’re in position” it was Coulson, already dressed in a suit despite the hour, Ward was starting to think he slept in one

“New York?” Grant asked, there was something about Coulson’s deliberately airy tone that made him suspicious, what was in New York that was more important than the 0-8-4…

“We’ve got to pick up Skye, she’ll be joining the team so make sure to help her settle in” he replied, looking specifically at the scientist duo- apparently Grant’s comment about not being a welcome committee had been taken on board.

But Ward didn’t have time to appreciate that; he was too busy trying to figure out just what exactly Coulson was thinking to bring Skye, of all people onto their _team_

“Great, more people” he drawled realizing that there was now going to be _another_ person on this plane to be trapped with at 2200 feet with no exit

“Oh I’m sorry I didn’t realize we were such a burden” Fitz remarked offended, his voice hitching up into that high pitched tone Grant was already too familiar with after only a week of knowing him  and he groaned inwardly

“Oh of course we are” Jemma scoffed and Grant gritted his teeth in frustration as the two of them set off like a wind-up toy someone had twisted and twisted and twisted “we’re the people who talk too fast and say big words and can’t possibly be if any use because we’re not big tough secret agents, obviously” she snarked, the words pouring out of her at top speed

“God that chip on your shoulder must weigh a ton, is that why you walk with your shoulders all scrunched up?” Fitz threw in, the two of them merging back into one being again oh god Coulson was really going to add _another_ pain in his ass to this place

“He’ll have even less room in the fridge now, how will he survive?” Jemma needled, her English accent bending around the words in that moment in a way that made him unable to control the groan this time, all the while Coulson barely blinking at the spat as he pulled back from the door

“For God’s _sake_ ” Grant barked, his patience finally snapping and he grabbed the door before it could swing shut and close him in there with the two of them.

“Sir you _can’t_ be serious” he called, letting the door close behind him with a satisfying click feeling like hours must have passed since he’d stormed in there at the end of his tether with the whole damn thing to find Jemma standing there in those elephant pyjamas and crooked goggles, diffusing him completely accidentally until they’d managed to set him straight back up again to tick tick tick tick away, if Coulson _was_ serious about adding this woman to the team, in all likelihoods, Grant would explode before the day was out.

 

 


	2. Please God No More Aboard The Plane of Dysfunction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's much shorter because there wasn't much for this scene, but enough hopefully until the next chapter's up tonight or tomorrow, enjoy!

“…technically, Stark’s a consultant” they’d already landed in New York by the time Ward managed to locate Coulson again, finding him in the cockpit with The Cavalry who seemed to share Grant’s argument against bringing the rebel hacker on board- someone on this plane he had no trouble working with, and unsurprisingly the only person who seemed to have her head screwed on as to how much of a Bad Idea this was

Yes, because Stark was such a brilliant example of rationality and appropriate conduct of someone who would make a worthy _undercover_ S.H.I.E.L.D  agent- the guy outed himself as Iron Man practically straight away and gave a known terrorist his bloody home address- on national TV!

“ _Technically_ Skye’s a member of the Rising Tide” Grant fired back tersely, was he really having to remind Coulson of this? “she hacked our RSA implementation”

“Twice, from a laptop, imagine what she could do with our equipment” Coulson replied as though this was something to look forward to and the girl wasn’t likely to do serious damage and compromise there entire arrangement.

“I am imagining it, that’s exactly what I’m imagining during this frown” Ward argued; the foundations of this “team” were shaky enough as it was- The _Cavalry_ was entirely unwilling to work in combat for Christ’s sake, Coulson’s own agenda was completely inscruitable since he’d been impaled by an Asgardian God with daddy issues who wore a horned metal helmet like he was purposefully trying to get electrocuted by his brother (or it was just a misguided method of peacocking) and returned from Tahiti as though nothing had happened, Fitz and Simmons barely spoke enough normal English for anyone to get anything other than annoyed at them and Ward Did. Not. Want. To. Be. Here. The idea of adding an anarchistic hacker with that whole “rebel with a cause” shtick to the group made his head hurt.

“You bought me on for risk assessment, she’s a risk” he insisted but Coulson smiled and Ward felt the vein in his neck begin to throb “She doesn’t think like us” he added, skipping over the automatic “us” and deciding not to think about it right now

“We have two kids on this bus who aren’t cleared for combat and you’re adding a third?” Agent May spoke up, her tone chilled as though she was annoyed at even having to have this conversation with Coulson, and though it was a good argument, and probably a persuasive one at that, Ward found himself jumping in to unhinge it slightly anyway, the image of Jemma Simmons in her pyjamas and lab coat standing up tall with her hand on her hip refusing to let him discount her _I’m a scientist, its what I do_ flashing through is mind

“At least Fitzsimmons are trained SHIELD Scientists” he reasoned, knowing from his experience that morning if she was there right now she’d be speaking up for herself, astounded at being belittled into just “not combat ready” even if that wasn’t the intention, but she _wasn’t_ there now, and somebody should do it.

Apparently though nothing either of the Agents said could change Coulson’s mind and he looked positively thrilled when he finally announced he was officially calling it, leaving Ward with nothing to do but walk away once May had thrown a glare Coulson’s way as though he was deliberately trying to annoy her, and flounced off- once the Cavalry had given up, what chance did he stand?

He grabbed one of the flight safety pamphlets from the desk- if she was going to be on board she could at least be flight ready so as to save them all the hassle, stepping out of the office just as he heard 3 voices floating up the hallway and he ducked slightly out of sight to avoid being seen- he was annoyed enough already to know he couldn’t handle any more run ins with the lot of them without suggesting a game of Russian roulette, but he heard his name being mentioned and it routed him to the spot

“…the bag that Agent Ward put over my head” it was Skye- Coulson had already bought her on board then, fantastic, good to know he really valued the opinions of his team with this kind of decision making, and he just rolled his eyes- what had she expected; they were about to interrogate her for illegal cyber activity they were hardly going to roll out a red carpet, get Melinda on the trumpet or something for a proper royal welcome.

“Yes, we’re so sorry about that… water?” that was Jemma, he recognized, she sounded nervous, or at least uncomfortable- maybe she wasn’t so keen to play the part of welcome committee either, but it was what she said that brought the frown to his face

_We’re so sorry about that,_ we, we, he’d made it perfectly clear this morning that they were barely able to be civil human beings toward each other let alone a team, but here she was, apoligizing for his actions, as though the whole thing had been a team ploy that they all shared responsibility for. He knew he was probably over thinking it, but still…. he wondered if it was just the need to make Skye feel welcome and amenable, an automatic thing, or if she was conscious of the way she said it, neither of her companions commented though and by the time wheels up was being called, he had almost completely put it out of his mind.

They were going in to investigate an 0-8-4, a complete mystery to every single one of them, as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent working alone in the field, all the skill and luck in the world didn’t mean a thing if he wasn’t prepared, and how could you prepare for something when its very definition was “unknown”? Expect the unexpected usually implied _some_ kind of original expectation at least as a starting point, but this… there was nothing, and Ward wasn’t naïve enough to deny that a part of him was afraid; Coulson had made it sound like being part of a team would mean knowing that somebody was there to cover your six and make them some kind of super-efficient group who could get the job done in record time or something, but Ward still felt like all it meant was instead of focusing entirely on being able to do exactly what he was trained for, there were 3 people almost entirely unable to protect themselves out in the field, and that would fall to him to keep them safe. Not being able to prepare for those threats wasn’t exactly the best part of his job, and he sat in silence the whole flight just waiting for it to feel right but it never did- team protector just wasn’t in his DNA.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never shared my writing before and I can't for the life of me tell you why I'm doing it now but hey, they're perfect and if you're reading this you probably think so too so I can't go too far wrong posting it here for you guys right :)


	3. Just A Scratch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! I had 3 more chapters written up and then my laptop literally blew up in my face and I lost EVERYTHING on my harddrive, so this kind of got put on the back burner and I was panicking like hell about all the things I had lost and just yeah I'm sorry
> 
> You guys were SO kind and encouraging and really really great and it made sharing my work for the first time a lot less terrifying and I'm seriously so grateful for everything- I never realized before how much a small comment or someone leaving kudos can be, I appreciate it so much and I'm sorry I broke my promise to update this within a day- 2 months so not even remotely close I'm sorry!
> 
> Anyway, if you can cast your minds back to episode 2 before we got so much perfect out of these two and got to where we are today that would be great and hopefully this will be enjoyable, I hope you're all doing great and are enjoying your holidays, whatever they may be :)

It turns out Jemma Simmons was guilty of quite possibly the greatest sin known to man, and even if Grant wasn’t already in the worst mood imaginable, he doubted he’d ever be able to forgive her anyway. Because Jemma Simmons was a serial Chair Kicker. A capital offence if ever there was one.

The amused look Melinda May threw him from the driver’s seat as that deceptively strong foot collided with the back of his seat for the millionth time, sending him lurching forward slightly despite his efforts, and his nostrils flared as though he were about to attempt breathing fire whilst he tried to control his temper, seemed to suggest that she knew exactly what melodramatic thoughts were running through his head right then and he coughed to cover his groan.

“Are we there yet?” Fitz spoke up from the short straw of the bumpy middle seat which only his blatantly obvious crush on one Skye No Last Name Because Last Names Are Just Another Way The Man Will Control You, had kept him from complaining about being usurped from his usual seat that she had now taken.

“Please tell me you did not just actually ask that?” the newcomer asked, and for once Grant agreed with her, it was like being stuck in a car with twelve year olds.

“We’ve been cramped up in this car for 3 hours it’s a reasonable request” Jemma spoke up, the scathing tone in her words barely there unless you were really listening for it, but there none the less, all the more strange as she’d been completely amicable the whole journey thus far. Except for you know, the chair.

“We’re about thirty seconds away do you all think you can cope with that?” Melinda drawled; mastering the bored, so-not-here-for-this, authoritative tone far better than Ward would have done- he had a feeling he would have just earned himself another kick whilst she commanded perfect silence without moving an inch. A woman after his own heart.

They’d been heading deeper and deeper into the Peruvian jungle for the last hour and Grant was beginning to feel uneasy, this isolation was either the safest place for them, or the thing that would get them gunned down and left to rot in the wilderness for months before anyone ever came across their slowly mummifying corpses. His eyes trained on the thickening wilderness from his window mile after mile, lest someone was tracking them. That was the other thing about working in a team- just try and imagine how easy _2_ trucks must be to track. They may as well tie bells to the top and announce themselves with a jingle. _STOP KICKING THE CHAIR._

He spotted them within the final mile, tire tracks he couldn’t pinpoint from his seat in the van, and when they finally pulled up to their destination- what appeared to be a small rural village smack bang in the middle of the jungle (there would be people to find their bodies before the flesh rotted away then, that was a relief), his first words to May as they got out of the car were to let her know he was going to check on them; half worrying that they really had been tracked to this location and half relieved he would be able to stretch his legs and walk off the kink at the bottom of his back courtesy of the one woman assault on one innocent chair without being seen- he was worried he might hobble, and that, he would never live down.

By the time he’d verified them as belonging to the professor who’d called in the 0-8-4 to begin with, he followed the tracks back to the site and allowed himself just a beat of a pause between strides, remaining under the cover of the bushes to admire the remarkable sight before his eyes. Grant knew the others seemed to be under the illusion he was operating without a brain in his head that was good for much more than combat, but they forgot too easily that Grant’s work had sent him travelling all over the world, he was no uncultured swine, and this, it was really something.

His training discipline had him moving on almost immediately and he stopped wondering what exactly the 0-8-4 was precisely, when he heard a loud jumbling of run on sentences and excitable squeaks from inside- whatever it was, it had FitzSimmons in major science mode, and he doubted he would understand it yet if they didn’t. And they’d likely crucify him for getting in the way.

Melinda May was waiting outside the temple too, slender figure still and alert as she prowled up and down the entrance, obviously preferring to remain outside of the group for now too, so he decided to take up Guard Duty with her, only then he realized something was missing

“Where’s your side-arm?” he asked, admittedly it was only his second week on the job with the woman, but Ward had heard enough stories about this living legend to be utterly perplexed as to the lack of a weapon

“If I need a gun, I’ll take one” was all she said, and Grant had absolutely no doubt in his mind that that was true- that she didn’t need a gun to put a man down anyway

“Sorry” he said casually “Forgot I was working with The Cavalry” this was a lie of course, that wasn’t the kind of thing you forgot, but she definitely didn’t seem the type to want to hear how, learning she would be joining Coulson’s team, had been a huge deciding factor in his decision to come on board.

She paused in her movements at his words, and it was that new stillness that alerted him- someone else was moving, just beyond the trees, and he tuned in quickly to hear four separate voices within the temple- his team were all accounted for, so they were not alone.

He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he realized the implications, pushing them to the back of his mind and focusing on just that one man as Melinda visibly froze up at the use of the nickname- he only hoped she had caught on to the situation developments as he apologized again, making casually toward the bushes. If he spooked him, they were done for.

“…what went down in Bahrain” step, step, carefully

“…it was smart of Coulson to pull you out of retirement” step- he saw them then, the second and third man, coming up behind Agent May and he had to force himself to not draw his gun right then and there, he wasn’t stupid enough to think if there were three there would not be more, and neither he nor May were close enough to the entrance to hold them off, he had a split second to decide “its nice to have a trusted friend around” step, the leaves crunched over his foot and he was an arms breadth away- so were they “to watch your back” he knew she would understand the second the words were out of his mouth and he didn’t pause to check she’d spring into action, his arm flying out and yanking the man from his hiding space. The blood rushed through his body like an engine roaring to life and his limbs moved on autopilot, throwing the man around over his shoulder, the impact only swinging in and able to get through the wall of adrenaline to actually make him waver when the man was already on the ground in front of him, his face getting nicely acquainted with the end of Ward’s gun.

One, two, three, they were all lying in the dust at their feet, but Grant’s ears trained in, focusing hard over the blood rush pounding just loud enough- a reprimand making itself heard as to remind him that he was not supposed to do something like die quite just yet- to listen for their voices, one, two, three… four.

He reached down to grab the man, yanking him up into a choke hold ready to speak when the sound of engines had his brain scream every curse he knew in his first three languages- Melinda had grabbed herself two guns- two, of course she had- but one look at those trucks and he knew that wasn’t nearly enough

“Should have grabbed more guns” he said _Shit buggering bollocks_ , he added in his head, he thought dimly that FitzSimmons might have appreciated that one.

 

Next time he comes across three insurgents, manages to get them to the ground without anyone getting hurt, then reassess all life choices that lead to this moment when they end up cornered by what looks to be an extremely severe looking militant group holding a bunch of tricky little bastards known as machine guns aimed right at them, only to _then_ find out that hey ho Coulson actually has some quite obviously _undercover_ history with the said fearsome military big gun people’s leader – he’d had to suppress the grin on his face when that particular pun popped into his head, yes- and his really, really, really, awful Spanish manages to get them out of that particularly tight squeeze, he’d like for that to be the end of the bloody story next time.

Because he could really do without the bit where god damn Peruvian rebels start shooting up the place. Honestly he could.

Grant was inside the temple with the three of them when the first explosion hit, and as the force of it shoved him sideways and rubble already began pelting from the ceiling, the way he tried to dig his feet in and push toward them as the ground still shook, told him exactly how grateful he should be. Had he been anywhere else, even just outside, he could not have seen them- her- them, for himself before the dust showered them all, and standing right in front of her, _them_ \- her… already yanked his heart up into his throat for a second. The second explosion hit and not three seconds had passed, he remembered his training before the dust settled this time. It didn’t matter how many of them there were out there, there were three of them in here who couldn’t protect themselves, and one of him, with one gun, there was no time for anything else.

“Sounds like they’re engaging with rebels, let’s go” he instructed, the cold metal of his gun a comfort in his hands now as he moved forward to cover the entrance, move _move_ they weren’t moving quick enough

“We need a containment case for the 0-8-4” Jemma’s voice rang out, clear and commendably very nearly calm- stupid, ridiculous, baffling bloody logic she had, looking to him now like this was an obvious, reasonable request, and _he_ somehow could provide for her exactly what she needed; she was completely and utterly nuts

“There’s no time” Grant exclaimed, and their eyes met for a second, _why are you being so unreasonable_ written on both their faces and Grant groaned, unable to keep it in, fury making him grip the gun tighter as Fitz jumped in to continue whatever argument she was making- he needed her to think about her _life_ not a stupid containment case for crying out loud, her _life_.

Rapid gunfire interrupted any further discussion and the only part of Ward’s brain that was even attempting to understand what Fitz was still saying, was now otherwise occupied, they had to get out of there, now

Stay in here arguing about the bloody thing and wait to be gunned down, or risk it and get the hell out of there. The choice was obvious, but he doubted the others would see it that way.

“Sorry” he grunted, striding back across the room “science class is over” he was tugging the damn thing right out of the wall before Fitzsimmons could even open their mouths to splutter. It didn’t last long and Fitz was yelling at him like he was about to have a nervous breakdown, but Jemma was miraculously silent as Ward stashed the great lump in her counterpart’s rucksack quick as a flash. When she was the first to yell for Fitz to hurry he knew that she was finally scared, the thought didn’t make him feel any better.

A fleeting glance around at the three of them was all they had time for and he tried not to sound like a fraud as he commanded them to “Stay close” before leading them right out of the door and into the fray of machine gun fire and rain of bullets. Grant didn’t hesitate to fire back, the gun in his hands pelting bullet after bullet every which way, as his eyes scrambled for a place to run to.

A hand had already grabbed desperately for his jacket, clinging to it as a small frame slammed against his own, and the sounds of three terrified shouts already echoed in his ears, by the time he realized there was nowhere for them to run, and they had followed him out.

“Get back!” he yelled, his legs already moving as he stayed bent almost double trying to get in every shot he could, and provide as much cover for them, but the words were barely out of his mouth when he heard the gun, closer now than all the others had been. There wasn’t enough time. He tried to shove then back, back, but bullets are so much faster than shaking legs. Grant went to move, to duck, but the hand at his back pulled hard, trying to drag him back with them, the gun screamed bloody murder over them in a haze of bullets- and now he had exposed her.

He wasn’t even aware that he was moving, had turned and pushed them on, his body shifting to mask her again, until the bullet went right through him. He staggered, the impact knocking the wind out of him, but he did not fall, so it must have been a flesh wound only, and he refused to acknowledge the warm feeling pooling at his side, until he’d already grabbed her arm and bodily shoved her straight back through the entrance.

“Get down!” he yelled, they had one chance and it fell to him to pull it off, god it stung, no, no time for that.

He didn’t need to look back at their faces to know that they were all ashen and terrified, eyes wide like they couldn’t close them even if they wanted to, but the thought of it was enough to make him suck it up and – breathe- just one second, then he was up, body sailing through the air as the training took over, moving his muscles automatically through every move he needed to make, and when his feet landed firmly on the ground- _ow_ \- he waited just a moment for the command that told him everyone was getting the hell out of the way, and then the weapon was in his hand and he was slamming it into the ground and the blue surge that swept out from the contraption shook him to his very core and he let himself breathe, breathe, breathe, for a moment longer.

How the hell had he been standing there listening to them babble about energy fluctuations not thirty seconds ago?

He made a point not to stagger as he stood again, hissing back a wince that would have given him away, just as the screeching of tires echoed through the clearing and lo and behold the cavalry arrived. Everyone was jammed straight into the truck and they were off barrelling straight through the wilderness as fast as that terrain would allow- maybe even a bit faster with May at the wheel, frantic sounds from the back seat keeping his pulse from steadying itself out again as fear and adrenaline mashed about through the air in an almost palpable haze as bullets started up again right outside their thin metal safe house

“...I'll open a window” she may as well have kicked him hard as she possibly could right in the gut it still would have taken longer to knock the wind out of him.

“ _NO!_ ” he yelled, his own protest joining the cacophony of voices that responded to her suggestion, Jesus bloody Christ this girl was supposed to be the smartest out of all of them, she was definitely _not_ supposed to suggest _opening a god damn window in the middle of a car chase_ with bullets aimed right at them, right at her. She was supposed to think about her _life._ He didn't understand how that could be quite so difficult for her- his whole body was tense and ready, running through just how quickly he could vault over these seats if necessary, and the wound in his side was too warm, too sticky, stinging like a bitch and even then all he could really feel was that hand at his back trying to pull him backwards- _he_ didn't seem to be able to think about anything else at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have this headcanon that Fitz was bullied quite a bit when they were at school together and Jemma absolutely hated it so was always there to take his side and defend him and I feel like that's become an automatic thing for her to do now that they're on the team, to jump in and defend him against anything that could possibly hurt his feelings even if she sounds unreasonable, he's her friend and she'll rip you to shreds for him so yeah...
> 
> Hope this was alright, enjoy the rest of your day and maybe leave a bit of feedback if you'd like, I've never written fic before so this is all new to me :)))


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